The Ban Continues.

After houseguests and new furniture and job changes, I am still on my television ban. Impressive, no?

Well to me it is. There were a couple slip-ups that involved group gleeking out, but other than that it's been iPod-only on the television and movie front.

I haven't been on the computer much either. I've felt very, very busy. I've BEEN very very busy.

Vagina Monologues rehearsals, yoga class, gym, friend dates. Sigh. I'm gonna go read now. (I'm so boring).

Scholarship

I haven't been contributing much lately. So here I go again. Things in the works:

Writing schedule
Film editing schedule
Photo editing schedule

These things all need to nestle into my life. Regularly. Now is the time for change. Off we go, then.

It's not been the best of weekends. Many fails across the board. But we had some good Steve hangout time and banana cinnamon chocolate chip pancakes as well as veggie scrambles with melted Monterey Jack. Two breakfasts of champions in two days? Double win.

In the midst of friend fails and meet up fails and sister fails, we at least put together our G-Market shelves and now have little cubbyholes in which to store our belongings. Lately heaps were forming all over the place. Floors in Korea need to be dusted every one to two days, and that simply doesn't happen when your make up bag, mirror, clean sock pile, dirty clothes, notebooks, first aid supplies, liquid latex, and earrings are strewn about your living area. You know?

So with a clean, organized home I am ready to clean up and organize my life. Starting with my productivity. Rule number one: No. More. Television. That's right. We've outlawed it. I can watch what I like on my iPod on the way to work, but no more wasting time in the evenings with Top Model (sorry ladies, you're iPod bound). Unfortunately the pixels on my iPod classic are starting to rot. I may need to invest in a touch within the next six months. Boo. Double boo, in fact.

I've been podcasting nearly as much as I've been Dextering during my commute. I feel much more in tune with the world when Terry Gross interviews the next big whoever. And everyone needs to hear WORDS on Radiolab. Especially if you care about words...at all. Blew my mind.

So, iPod, keep on keeping on so that I can be inspired. Inspired to think, read, write, photograph, work, work, work. Here's to contributing. ::clink::

Something Fishy...

I've been thinking a lot about fish lately. It doesn't make much sense. Maybe I'm working on an essay in my head. I once wrote a short story that feautured kissing gouramis (p.s. that's a kind of fish). My main character found himself at the pet store when he was thinking. Not just after the fight he'd had with his girlfriend, but often. He'd gaze into fish tanks and watch the fish tumble around like the thoughts in his head. He's walk the blue aisles and feel a stillness among all those finned creatures. Neon tetras would dart about, like they were cutting to and fro on a lacrosse field. Some yellow thing--maybe a cichlid--glided skillfully through its faux-rock fortresses. And this man worked things out. The fish aisles of the pet store were a place of refuge for him, my character. I don't even remember his name.

Me? I just like fish tanks. I like peering into every tank and cage and adoption center at a pet store. Put a cardboard box of bunnies in a subway station, and you've got fifteen minutes of my time. I look at the guinea pigs, size up the chinchilla, consider holding the hedgehog, ask if there are ferrets, and hold two dwarf mice together in the palm of my hand. Regularly. That is neither here nor there. I was talking about fish.

My partner doesn't eat fish. Well, that's not true. Hannah would love to fry up some mackerel for breakfast tomorrow, which would be about number four on my list of the top ten worst smells I can imagine waking up to. To be fair, this is a normal Korean breakfast. To be fairer, she is not Korean, but a registered legal alien of the country, exactly like I am. (Only she really loves that she is an alien, whereas I find the term peculiar and don't really consider myself one. An immigrant, perhaps, but alien? She loves it so much, she probably introduces herself that way. She should have business cards made: H. J. W.  alien.) But...even though she would love some buttery, lemony gilled thing in her tummy, she is against the fishing industry as it is. I can't help but agree with her sentiment when she shoots articles my way on overfishing or damage to the sea floor. I still eat fish occasionally.

About as often as I eat fish, I let fish eat me. You read correctly. I'm talking about Dr. Fish. More than half a dozen times last year, I let those little guys nibble in between my toes, and everywhere else from mid-shin down: ankles, heels, arches, tops, backs, sides, etc. I found new friends to go with me. I dragged visitors from other countries; I met friends for coffee and convinced them to dip their cleaned feet into the tanks (set in the floor at the coffee-shop spa). I've found myself become some version of my character. I've walked into this coffee shop, taken a lap, and just looked into the eyes of those fish. I didn't even make an appointment or order a smoothie. I just made sure that they were there. Just in case I needed them.

I've strolled in alone more than once just to check on them. To make sure they hadn't all died or been relocated. I'm still thinking about what they provided me. Comfort and joy, sure. Giggles (Gosh, they're ticklish). It's also something Hannah won't do. I tell her to try it. I try to work some persuasion magic only to find that she is immune to it. She's watched me giggle and shriek trying to hold my feet underwater. Seen me do this again with her brother, with her best friend. She just can't go there. It creeps her out and sounds incredibly unpleasant to her.

Something about it lets me let loose. Let's me laugh and feel weird and good and silly. It eases stress, makes me smile, and only costs $2. Also: my feet are smoother afterward. Plus, I'm a meal ticket for about a hundred mouths at once!

Aren't I giving back to the fish community? Providing them with delectable dead skin cells? Or am I just taking more away?

This Guy.

Chris, the guy drunk on gum, is mad that I don't blog. He, who has never blogged...who has barely facebook commented is upset. And I am upset that he is upset.



So by gosh, I will blog.

Just not tonight... :)

Two Weddings in Two Days

This weekend was one filled with so much love. Love exploded on the faces of people everywhere and dripped down their legs and onto the floor and even rolled beyond in some instances, into riverbeds. We jumped and splashed and danced in the love. It's true that love actually is all around us. Just like the movie claimed. We drank it up. We peed it out. Some vomited love and we loved them for it.

On Saturday Nikita and Mark finally tied the knot after ten years. Wowza. I've known these two love birds since high school and was privileged enough to participate in some of the unfamiliar (to me) traditions and ceremonies that lead up to an Indian wedding. And I took some pictures.

After Friday night's dancing extravaganza (Garba / Raas party), Saturday morning came around. Bridesmaids' hairdos were done; saris were draped; make-up was applied.

Nikita looked more beautiful than ever. Mark looked stunning whether he was in his Indian or western attire. There was a glow about the couple that was inspiring, enchanting, just plain old love on fire. I admittedly am a crier in general. But I cried reading the program on this one. I cried watching it all go down. I sniffled through the explanation of the Hindu ceremony's symbolism, and more tears oozed out during the toasts at the reception.

Better even than the smile on Nikita and Mark's faces was how accepting both families were of this union. An Indian American woman, a white Irish Catholic dude: blessings all around. I can only hope that my family supports me as much if I choose to marry someday.

Fast forward 3 hours: we are on a bus Boston's Logan Airport and off to Milwaukee to be with Rachel and Dan as they got hitched.

Rachel and Dan met in Spokane, WA four years ago at my MFA program. I'm fairly certain that Dan began loving Rachel the very first day he met her. Which was semi-awkward since they both had significant others. Dan became her friend and wooed her and then all became right in their world about five months later when these two really good friends started dating.

All weddings (aside from the Vegas variety, perhaps?) are very planned. There is so much detail that goes into every aspect (you know if you've planned or helped plan a wedding). Rachel and Dan's wedding was so THEM. The save the dates were printed on plantable paper (with seeds that sprouted into flowers); Rachel's dress was made by her aunt from lace they collected from various estate sales; the bouquets were picked up the day before from the Milwaukee farmer's market.

After seeing Nikita glowing with happiness, I wasn't sure I'd ever see a prettier bride. Then, the very next day Rachel matched her! Her dress was unique and incredibly flattering. Her hair was just how she'd like it; she and her bridesmaids were barefoot. And she was the most beautiful I'd ever seen her. She and Dan were both so happy (even when they were crying a tiny bit during the ceremony). I'm so happy for them as they start their new life together in Indianapolis. New jobs, new city, new apartment, and the start of their marriage.

I have two weeks left in America before Hannah and I leap into the start of our fourth year together (and 2nd year in Korea). I am looking forward to having a home, a bed I sleep in every night, time and space to write, and a routine.

I feel so lucky to have had these five months to travel, reconnect with friends, take some personal space, hang out with my family, and dance in piles and piles of love. May the love keep on a'spewing out over everything and everyone.

Crestone, CO

I've been here for nine days.

Here is a place called Crestone, CO, a "town" of 140 people. It's plunked in one region of the San Luis valley, which rests 8,000 feet above sea-level and is about 60-miles across at this point. It's surrounded by daunting, gorgeous mountains that make Massachusetts' mountains look like anthills, or good places for sledding with toddlers.

I'm staying with my friend Matthew who runs a meditation retreat center in this beautiful locale. From the window of my guest room (complete with a 10-foot long desk and king size bed), I can see a vast flat area with small cacti and little bushes that remind me of sage, but aren't. They're greasewoods--a plant I know nothing about, except that they can be spiky, like most of the growth in this area.

Some houses dot the mile or so that falls between me and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, named so for the color they often reflect at sunset: a rosy, reddish glow. I was told that the missionaries who came upon the range were reminded of the blood of Christ, and so named the rocky, evergreen-filled mountains accordingly. I've been hiking up them two times now. They are full of fir trees and aspen. The aspen leaves are incredibly bright green right now.

Hiking the beasts, you gain elevation quickly, weaving up the scree-filled switchbacks. Their peaks are around 14,000 feet. I got to about 11,800 feet when I hiked to Willow Lake. The hike was nine miles round trip and took a solid six hours to get up and back.

The lake at the top was well worth it. A waterfall poured into it at the far end, and it was lined with peaks.

I'm still sore today (two days later). From my window I can also see the Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve. They are the tallest dunes in North America and take up over 30 square miles of space. They look so small from my window, but when we drove up to them I thought: My god, they're the size of mountains! Because they are next to the Sangre de Cristos, though, they look puny from far away.

The dunes invite you to climb them. And climb them. And maybe go over this ridge of sand until you feel like leaping or tumbling or sliding down a slope. Many people bring sleds, or even snowboards for extra sliding fun. When I visited the dunes, dark gray clouds loomed overhead. When the wind blew, I could see sand coursing up a slope. Popping your collar seems legitimate here. It was raining as soon as we crossed the frigid little stream to get from the parking lot to the sand dunes. We proceeded up the sandy incline. The rain got bigger and harder. We kept going into the rain. Weather here is strange.

We tumbled into a valley and climbed out the other side. It began to hail. Marble-sized hunks of half-melted ice dotted the sand, got caught in my hair, and made red marks on my arms. My legs could feel the work they were doing to walk in sand, and then run through it in the hail. We got back to the car soaked and cold and started driving toward the sunny, bright blue sky. I looked back to make sure--and it was still disastrously gloomy behind us.

We went to Alamosa, a town of 8,000, to grab beers and happy hour snacks. Alamosa and Salida are the surrounding "big cities" where you can go to get groceries from a Safeway, or supplies from a hardware store. When you're in Crestone you can go to the tea shop, the organic health foods store, or the coffee shop for fun. That's about it.

I could never live here.

It's so beautiful, but I need people and places. The town also has only one restaurant (though two more are scheduled to open this summer). If, however, one needed a writing retreat or relaxing getaway full of hikes or mountain backdrops, I cannot think of a better place.

I've loved my time in Crestone. :)

My Photos

Check out my sweet sweetness at Artists Wanted:
http://www.artistswanted.org/michellekozlowski

& wish me luck.